


Temporal Always

by euphorbic



Series: Angel of Cities [17]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Angels, Canon Disabled Character, Discussion of Free Will, Gratuitous Imagery, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphorbic/pseuds/euphorbic
Summary: Under the April moon, he stares out across the clouds where oak-covered hills and skyscrapers make a new landscape of geometric blocks and rounded oases without people or the asphalt arteries of their streets.Above the heat waves of August’s burning desire, he waits on the balcony alone with cold-brewed tea and wonders if his mind will ever touch and be touched by the sweet mystery of his true love ever again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well, well, look what's finished? There were times I thought I would abandon it, but I'm glad I didn't. I hope it's worth the wait.
> 
> Discrepancy: I previously wrote that Azazel was a Power and Janos a mutant. I ended up writing some AoC pieces with them and Az's mutation didn't work for a Power at all, but Janos' did. So I switched it.

Under the April moon, he stares out across the clouds where oak-covered hills and skyscrapers make a new landscape of geometric blocks and rounded oases without people or the asphalt arteries of their streets. 

Above the heat waves of August’s burning desire, he waits on the balcony alone with cold-brewed tea and wonders if his mind will ever touch and be touched by the sweet mystery of his true love ever again.

The scent of decaying leaves is carried up to him on the humid winds of October as he rests his torso’s weight on his elbows and imagines the undulations of his lover’s hair, moving in waves against that same wind.

February’s cold brings ice to the balcony, but there’s no threat of toppling as he blows steam away from his mug’s mouth and remembers the way he lost him that day, like smoke, like steam, passing through his fingers and only leaving the condensation of tears on Charles’ knees and tons of twisted metal on his body.

* * *

Charles stops watching and reading love stories. Every now and again Professor Charles Xavier remembers that famous quote from Alfred Lord Tennyson about it being better to have and loved and lost and disagrees violently, even hatefully. Sometimes he can’t look at his sister and Hank without wanting to hurt them. It’s the last that attaches to his heart and sinks him with shame deep down within himself.

But then, one day, he arises and he doesn’t want to hurt Raven or Hank anymore, he takes the love stories back to him, and he makes peace with Tennyson. One day he apologizes for his behavior and everything becomes fine and good again.

* * *

It’s the first week of the New Year. It’s been snowing off and on for a few days and, lovely and rare, the air is full of frozen fog; the air glitters with ice particles. It’s been a long time since Charles has seen this phenomenon, maybe since childhood. He’s not quite sure if it’s _his_ childhood or somebody else’s; such are the problems of aging telepaths.

Charles is in Delphi for the weekend, as he has been almost every month since Hank left Raven. Charles has always liked Hank, and some fondness remains despite his leaving; he understands the depths of Hank’s insecurities even if he doesn’t approve of them. Raven is happy, though, she’s been the catalyst in making Delphi the most mutant-friendly city on what’s left habitable on the planet. Really, Charles knows, Delphi isn’t so much mutant-friendly as it is pro-mutant and it’s an accomplishment that Raven takes with immense pride.

And despite the years and all her work, Raven looks only slightly less young and vibrant. People that don’t know any better often mistake her for Kurt’s older sister rather than his mother. It also sometimes means people think Charles is her father or, worse, grandfather. Depressing.

“Do you ever get tired of not talking about it?” Raven asks as soon as Kurt is off to visit the café’s toilet. Thankfully Charles has been a better influence on him than Raven; the young man walks to the bathroom rather than teleports. There’s nothing quite so singularly upsetting as having somebody teleport in on you while you’re trying to attend your toilet.

Charles shifts in his chair and looks out across the expanse of the Delphian Oracle’s administrative building and its soaring, white marble walls. The mid-winter snow on the field surrounding it comes right up to its pristine walls making it hard to tell where the building begins. When it’s snowing, the building is first to vanish from sight. When tourists come, though, it is the first thing they come to see. Charles knows Raven comes to this café for the view and other reasons; Raven has been meeting with Delphi’s Administrative Oracle quite often lately.

“About what?” Charles asks, because there are a great many things to not talk about, but he and Raven have enough differing opinions that he can’t be sure which topic it might be unless he reads her mind. And where’s the challenge in that? Charles likes his students to see him as omniscient, not so Raven.

She looks down at her coffee and swirls the spoon around the dark brew, perhaps pushing around a sugar cube. “About Emma, about Alexandria, about the Library falling down.”

Oh, it’s this then. Charles doesn’t remember much about that night nor has he ever had any curiosity about it. Not that he doesn’t miss Emma and her Power; he’s always had the desire to read a Power’s mind at least once and now he doubts he’ll ever have the chance. There’s always Janos, he supposes, but Azazel rarely visits and Janos, well, he’s still excruciatingly unpredictable after all these years. At least the Alexandrian would have maybe permitted the intrusion for the entertainment value and not done something horrible to him on accident (or inexperience and caprice).

“That was years ago, Raven,” Charles says with a sigh. He brushes imaginary dust from the blanket over his legs as he continues. “It was a tragedy and I understand that people love to talk about tragedies, but for me it was simply the night I helped Emma posthumously save her city. We should rejoice that Kitty wasn’t inside during the collapse or that Anne Marie had minimal injuries or, perhaps, that I didn’t die.”

“Not that,” Raven says, looking up from her coffee with her yellow eyes. “I mean the other person that was there. The one you stopped talking about when Hank left.”

Charles pulls his hands up from the blanket and takes his cup of tea. He sighs and steam blows back from the tea cup. “I do love a good mystery, but I’m having trouble with this one, Raven. We have talked about Azazel since Hank left. Do you mean Anne Marie? Because I may not speak much about her to you, but I did just mention her. Or maybe the Alexandrian? What is there to say?”

A frown tightens Raven’s face, she tries to hide it by taking a drink of her coffee but of course it’s for naught. She replaces the cup on the café table and looks up and over at the Oracle’s white marble. “I mean Erik, Charles. _Your_ Power.”

Charles stares. He’s not sure if this is a prank or not; Raven’s dreadfully serious and she wouldn’t make him question himself like this if she didn’t believe what she’s saying. So he goes gently, careful to understand. “Raven, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think I would remember something like that. Would you like to return to Bashan with me where I can do some tests for you? Maybe being around the oracle so much has had an adverse affect?”

“Fuck no,” Raven snorts. “Delphi isn’t going to mess me up anymore than she already maybe has. And of course you think it’s me that’s messed up, not you. Never you.”

Charles feels affronted but decades of involvement with students has given him a patience he hadn’t known in his youth. “I’m sorry Raven, but if you’re suggesting my memories have been tampered with, we both know that other than Jean, I have no telepathic equal and she has no reason to alter my memories. Nor yours for that matter, therefore I don’t know what to say. Well, other than Kurt is wondering when he can come back to the table. What would you like me to tell him?”

At first Raven’s face pinches in frustration, but gradually her features smooth as much as her scales allow for and she looks over her shoulder. “Yeah, I guess he’s a big boy, he can handle any of our spats.”

At this Charles can smile and reach out with one tea-warmed hand to touch Raven’s cold fingers. “He’s been growing up with them. Besides, he’s had at least some exposure to his biological father.”

It’s a comment Raven would normally roll her eyes at, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t look frustrated, but there’s tension there. “Charles, did you…  Could you alter your own memories?”

Slowly, Charles nods and opens his mouth to give a less than detailed explanation, but there’s a sudden noise and Kurt pops into view in a cloud of smoke and blue skin, to the gasping shock of dozens out on the heated patio with them. Perhaps Charles has been less of a good influence than he thought, or Azazel and Raven worse, but he appreciates the distraction.

“Was it good?” Kurt says with a fanged grin. “I’ve been working on it.”

‘It’ seems to be teleporting in a seated position on the chair. “It doesn’t matter how good your teleportation is if you don’t know when to use it,” Charles says sternly to his teenage nephew, “We’re mutants, Kurt, not Powers; we adhere to societal norms and mores.”

Cocksure pride and enthusiasm flee Kurt’s dark blue face, he glances at Raven and then over his shoulder at the Oracle. Charles doesn’t need telepathy to tell Kurt’s abashed.

“Kurt,” Raven says, and draws her hand away from Charles’. “Settle down or I’ll tell Az to take you to Mariupol for Janos to mind.”

The corners of Kurt’s mouth draw down nearly as far as the time Charles assigned him a five thousand word essay on Pre-Disaster geopolitical ties and how they affected the earth’s environment. There’s a story there, but Charles doesn’t ask, because there’s another mystery afoot.

“I’m settled,” Kurt says. His tail wraps neatly around his calf and squeezes. “Very settled.”

“Uh-huh,” Raven replies, and looks past him to the Oracle. “Make me believe it or off you go.”

Charles follows Raven’s gaze but sees nothing unusual about the Oracle except the continued sparkle of the frozen fog and a lone figure walking through the snow. Perhaps the Administrative Oracle will join them. “Mariupol? I thought it was New Astrakhan?”

“Well, okay, then,” Raven says without looking at Charles. “Mariupol was a complete disaster. Here’s the short version: Astrakhan Dissipated Janos without giving anyone warning. A few years later, Azazel got word of a series of unusual tempests at the Sea of Azov. He kidnapped a telepath and went AWOL, but he got Janos back. They had to rebuild their bond-thing, but Janos remembered Az so apparently it was easier the second time. Happy ending so far, but huge mess to start with.”

An unexplainable sense of loss fills Charles’ chest as Raven tells the story. It’s deep and cutting and Charles feels such strong uncharacteristic sympathy for Azazel that he wonders for just a moment if perhaps there’s an empath around. But then Raven’s blessedly brief story ends and the moment passes. Charles decides, no, it must be one of his medications. He makes a mental note to talk to his doctor when he gets back to Bashan.

“Are you okay?” Kurt asks from the other side of the table. “Professor? Charles?”

Charles nods to Kurt but speaks to Raven. “I gather this was kept out of the news.”

“Of course,” Raven says. She looks carefully at Charles’ face, her eyes flickering around his features. “But you’re wondering why I didn’t tell you, huh?”

“Naturally.” Raven tells him everything. Hank had hated that, probably because Charles hasn’t always known when to keep his own mouth shut. For example, it’s never a good idea to bring up possible solutions to male infertility to your brother-in-law when he himself hasn’t confided in you that he hasn’t been able to get your sister pregnant.

“Well, I did at the time.” Raven lifts her gaze off him and turns it out past Kurt again. “It was about fifteen years ago when things with Hank were really bad. You got angry and told me to shut up and never bring it up again.”

“That’s impossible,” Charles scoffs, but then Kurt leans close and puts a hand on Charles’ knee. Kurt has forgotten Charles rarely feels anything that far down his leg since the stained glass roof collapsed at the Library.

“Uncle Charles,” Kurt says, “it’s true. Mama and Azazel both talk about it.”

A shudder ripples through Charles, makes him feel disoriented. There must be a Power nearby or maybe this is more to do with his medication. He closes his eyes and grips the table’s edge to ground himself; he hasn’t felt so disconnected from reality and dizzy for years, not since waking up in the hospital confused and uncertain of his identity. He’s accepted and can handle losing the use and feeling in his legs but his mind? No, his mind is sacred ground.

“Charles,” Raven says, voice uncharacteristically unsteady, “Charles, look, I’m only bringing all this up because I… I have somebody I want you to meet. An old friend. The Oracle helped me get him for you.”

God, what kind of games are they playing, Charles wonders, to make him question his sanity before reuniting him with some old friend?

Charles opens his eyes, looks down at his tea and the thin film of milk fat that’s congealed on top. He’s glad he can’t see his face in the reflection, bad enough that Kurt or Raven should see him even momentarily out of sorts. Charles schools his face into a placid expression and reaches up to adjust his wool flat cap before lifting his gaze from the tea.

“I hope you understand, Raven,” Charles says quietly, “that this is the most irresponsible and disappointing introduction ever inflicted upon me.”

She says nothing, but she’s sucked in her lips and is biting them as she looks out toward the monument. Charles follows her gaze and abruptly meets the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered man in a gray military-style suit. The man is standing in the snow just off the heated patio, frozen motes of ice sparkling around him. His face is handsome, his eyes strangely piercing, and his auburn hair… his hair moves about his head like slow flames.

A Power. Raven has brought him a Power.

“He…” Raven falters, tries again. “I’ve been asking for years, you know? And since Az’s Power showed up again, I thought, why not Erik?”

The Power stands and nothing more, not breathing, unmoving except for his hair. He doesn’t even look at them, but beyond them, into the café where a huge clock fills the inside of a glass wall.

Charles has always wanted to read a Power’s mind and this one is so sedate. Surely he’s Bonded and safe to be read.

“Your name is Erik?” Charles asks.

The Power is watching the clock with what must be rapt interest, but he answers. “Yes.”

And then the watch on Charles’ wrist feels suddenly odd, there’s a pressure on the face of it, like a finger pushing it firmly, gently, into his wrist. Followed by a similar pressure in his mouth, against a gold crown he’s had for decades. It’s strange, but also familiar and terrible. Charles’ heart rate picks up.

Erik turns, his eyes narrowing, his head tilting, a stubborn and bizarrely severe curiosity animates his features. “Gnaeus…? No. Magda? _No_.” The Power’s expression quickly turns angry. “ _What is your name?_ ”

“Charles Frances Xavier,” Charles says. And though any sane person would be frightened, Charles is not. “You know me, don’t you?”

The marble table’s wrought iron creaks and shudders; the tea and coffee cups clatter upon it. Conversations around them immediately increase in volume and alarm. Kurt begins to stand, but Raven takes his wrist and pushes him back into his seat. And yet Charles is not afraid.

“No, you’re not Charles.” The Power’s anger intensifies and the table begins to lift as the wrought iron table’s decorative legs uncurl. Black paint flakes onto the granite patio and out into the snow. “Charles doesn’t use a wheel chair and his face isn’t fallen. Charles has hair.”

The Power is so familiar, especially in his anger, and Charles has always wanted to touch an Angel’s mind. Perhaps he should, to turn aside the anger, to keep the peace, to prove who he is. To sate his curiosity after all these many years. Charles is not afraid, no, he’s _drawn_ to this creature, so he reaches out to the Power’s angry sense of self.

Charles knows three things. White light. White noise. Temporal Power, Erik, numbered thirty and seven, who was at one time Max, who was at another time Magnus, who was previously unnamed, who was also previously unnamed, who was even yet unnamed and ever would be, world without end.

And interspersed within these other Eriks, Magnuses, Maxes, and unnameds, Charles knows… Charles. There’s no order to follow, no understanding of time as Charles has known it, but Charles is there as Erik gains Equilibrium, appears like clockwork at Bashan’s Central Station, as Erik is corrupted with Ronové’s imagery, as Nicholas fits Erik for a suit, as Erik wears the suit, as Erik break’s a woman’s wrist, as Erik fights against Ronové, as Erik fucks Charles as hard as Charles likes, as Erik covers his face and cries about issues of blood, as Ronové bleeds and bleeds, and as Erik lashes out at Bashan before he Dissipates. All that and more, Charles knows, but without order, without many things between. With new pieces he can’t explain, identify, or fit.

Charles has not shed a tear for many many years. In fact, he’s shown little in the way of emotion for quite a while; often when they come they feel muted. He hasn’t minded that. Now the emotions well up faster and stronger than his will can overpower. Raven was on the right path; he’s done this to himself. He’d carved Erik out of his memories and in so doing cauterized his heart.

“Charles Francis Xavier,” Erik says, the Erik who was, the Erik that is right now, the Erik that will be; the Erik who is temporal while he’s at Charles’ side. “I cannot undo the damage I have done to your body, but please let me be with you.”

Though Charles’ eyes are still closed and his face is wet, his mind’s eye is awash in color and light. He feels his arms around Erik and, strange and familiar, he feels his body in Erik’s arms. He says, “You already are.”

Charles feels Erik’s fierce joy, his love, and even the growing heat of his body radiating through both their layers, but there’s a question Charles has to ask. It’s a question that Erik has never been capable of answering with anything resembling accuracy. It’s the sort of question that can upset Erik when pressed, but Charles can’t not ask.

“For how long?”

“Always,” Temporal Power Erik says, and breathes warmth into Charles’ muffler, across his neck. “I always have been, and I always will be, with you.”

It’s the answer Charles didn’t want but knew to expect. His heart clenches and he moves his hand to Erik’s chest where Erik’s heart sometimes beats. Erik’s heart beats beneath Charles’ hand. It beats in time with Charles’.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've ever wondered what the deal is with Raven and Delphi: Delphi is Irene Adler.  
> How did Kurt happen? Post Novyy Astrakhan/Pre-Mariupol vodka.  
> Did Charles help destroy Raven's relationship with Hank? Yesss.  
> Does he remember? No.
> 
> Have more questions? Ask in the comments. ;D


End file.
